


Barely Fingertips

by CapConspicuous



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Class Differences, I don't really know where I'm going with this but I like the setting, M/M, Stucky - Freeform, WIP, dystopian au, it weird, multi-chapter, pre-serum steve, social caste system, stucky angst, stucky feels, utopian society setting, will edit tags as I go on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:56:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapConspicuous/pseuds/CapConspicuous
Summary: Steven and James live in vastly different worlds- but reside practically side by side.  Divided by Class and brought together by circumstance, in a society where Love is never known and Caring is impossible, they try their best to understand the feelings they have no words for. What is the worst that can happen when worlds collide?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter! Very, very short <3 because I am terrible and haven't written enough, so I'll be splitting this up for separate days of the challenge.  
> Ch.1 : Day 10/25 Days of Stuckmas. (Truth be told, 25 Days of Stuckmas may run into January, but winter lasts until March 20 so?? Hope you don't get tired of Christmas.... it's impossible to get tired of it, ok)  
> I know this fic is a bit,,, weird. Give it a try, kudos if you kinda sorta dig it, leave a comment if you truly love me <3  
> (For Betty, I love you okay, you're the best, I'll make this fic good for you, I owe you lots and lots !!)

They are not supposed to Care about anything. It doesn't happen. It is as impossible as Steven growing any bigger or James not completing his Service. 

So they do not Care.

\---

Steven is among those of Class F. Simply too small to keep up with the others of his generation, he is classified in the lowest ranking, even to the females within the colony. 

Even at age Seven, Steven knows he is worthless. 

Even at age Seven, Steven knows he is worthless, and that is why people never look twice at him. 

Even at age Seven, Steven knows he is worthless, but he also knows that the leaders of Class A are never really right, and the soldiers of Class B are never anything but brutes, and the doctors of Class C will never truly cure him, and the workers of Class D are never workers, always slaves, and the females of Class E are never treated correctly, and the undesirables of Class F will never be anything more.

Even among the others of Class F, Steven is particularly useless, he knows. Too small, too weak, too frail- he can't run messages without collapsing, can't serve food without dropping plates, can't scrub floors without fainting at the fumes. 

At night, in the Class F enclosure, Steven lies on his squeaky bed mat and tries to ease the creaking of his lungs alone. He does not Care.

\---

James is among those of Class B. Always one of the bigger and stronger of his generation, he is classified at the second highest ranking. To become a soldier is a great honor.

Even at age Seven, James is aware of his great duties.

Even at age Seven, James is aware of his great duties and that is why people hardly look him in the eyes when he passes. 

Even at age Seven, James is aware of his great duties, but he is also aware of the fear of rebellion in the leaders of Class A, fear of weakness in the soldiers of Class B, the fear of irrelevance in the doctors of Class C, the fear of power in the workers of Class D, the fear of men in the females of Class E, and the fear of everything in Class F. 

Even among those of Class B, James isn't quite what he looks- he is bigger and stronger, yes, but he is never perfect enough and he knows it. They don't notice, but he knows. His emotions are always a little too close to slipping, and sometimes he has too many questions on his tongue, and he doesn't like it when people are afraid of him.

At night, in the Class B bunks, James listens to the units being deployed and rubs at his bruised knuckles. He does not Care.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One meets a Doctor, the other a General.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11/25 Days of Stuckmas!  
> Another wee bit of a chapter BUT FEAR NOT, THEY'RE GETTING LENGTHIER. No really,,,, I'm dreading the day when the HTML isn't this easy and takes me a whole half an hour.  
> But I digress. Have fun! (KUDOS, COMMENTS, THROW VEGETABLES AT ME)  
> Hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season!!!

Not long after Steven turns Nine, there is an unexpected addition to Class F: A former Class C of all things, an old and feeble doctor. It is not often that one of the higher Classes is demoted all the way to Class F, so there is much interest aroused.

But it is nothing, just an old man that shakes when he talks and when he walks. He blends in with the other Class Fs easily, never saying much and always following orders. There is almost no trace of the intelligence that a Class C would require and eye contact is shielded by the reflection of spectacles.

Steven, for his part, avoids other people as much as he can, lest he be picked on any more than he already is. 

But one night, in one of his worse bouts of unbreathiness, Steven has no other word for it, he lies on his side, shuddering breaths unable to supply enough air to his lungs. Counting is no help and he is frantically aware of his racing pulse, wondering if it is slowing by the minute.

Steven may be useless but he does not want to die.

"Here, boy," a gruff voice sounds by Steven's head but he is too light-headed to even jump. He just takes the clear plastic dangling in his vision, fumbling fingers turning it over in confusion. "Over your face-" Steven almost drops the mask before he presses it over his nose and mouth- "A deep breath, now-" A shuddering gasp- "-hold it."

Steven holds the bitter tasting air in his ribcage until he feels like bursting then allows it to whistle out. 

"Better?"

Steven nods, amazed at the light breaths he is able to take- there is no wheezing and no struggling against unseen tension to inhale. 

"Thank you, sir," he stammers, using the proper address for anyone higher than his station and hands the mask with tubes attached back to the doctor's figure in the dark.

"Keep it under your bed, Steven," the doctor says, "They will not confiscate the machine, it is mine." Steven is able to make out the small but dense box that the doctor has placed on his pillow, and the tubes connecting it to the clear mask. "It's specifically for asthma- though I believe your case is far more serious than my own."

Steven may hate accepting help, but he is no idiot. For the... asthma then. The word is foreign to Steven, but he finds it easy to attach the term to the feeling.

"I don't have anything- for you-" The Class Fs do not deal in exchanges often- none of them have much to their names, besides a change of clothes, perhaps a blanket.

"Help me with my errands then; I may no longer be Class C, but I am still a doctor. I always need an extra hand in spare time."

'Yes, sir." Steven cannot recall the last time he had a conversation with someone else that lasted this long.

"Dr. Erskine, Steven- just call me Doctor. I am not a sir, and nor do I own a surname any longer, not as a Class F I don't," there is a kindly chuckle before the doctor returns to his own squeaky cot. "We will start tomorrow. I'll be making my rounds with the Class Es."

"Yes, sir- Doctor." Steven relishes in the expanse of his breaths. It is strange, to address a man by a name not his own, in fact, Steven is fairly certain it's against some unspoken rule. Names are names, never to be taken lightly. It is one thing to call a man by his title, Dr. Erskine, and another entirely to refer to him just as Doctor. 

But Steven can breathe. "Yes, Doctor."

\---

Alexander Pierce is a top General of Class B, tall, imposing, charismatic. Not long after James turns Nine, he begins to see Pierce at his training sessions. In the mess hall during dinner. Standing at the back of the room during Strategy lessons. 

James becomes accustomed to the weight of eyes at his back, but he does not know what Pierce is searching for. He trains well though, and is always quick at lessons, and all the other Class B boys are friendly with him though he knows they hold their own grudges amongst themselves. 

But, it seems that Pierce finds what he is looking for. 

One night, as the boys are filing out of the mess hall, Pierce is there to greet James at the door.

"Greetings, James. My name is Alexander Pierce, General of our Armed Forces."

"Greetings, sir," James knows his manners well, dips at the waist to his superior. "How may I assist you today?"

"I would like the honor of accepting you as my Private, James." Pierce is concise with his words and extends a large hand, like a question. 

"A- Private, sir?" There is no visible disturbance in James' features, and that is good. But a Private? He knows what that means. He would train under Pierce's instruction, in Pierce's name, and rise through the ranks faster- It would be expected that he took Pierce's place eventually. Most Class B boys only dreamt of becoming a Private, let alone one to a General. 

"Is my offer not satisfactory?" Pierce looks just a bit unsettled by James' hesitation, so James immediately grasps the nearly withdrawing hand.

"No, sir, I gladly accept, sir." James would be a fool to decline. He slides to his knees promptly, head hanging low, palms settling on the ground.

Pierce sounds pleased with the gesture. "Thank you, James." The tips of his fingers brush James' forehead, the signal to return to his feet. "You will surpass all other Privates."

"Thank you, General Pierce."

James does not feel a twinge of excitement, because he does not Care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Erskine gives Steven a giant inhaler machine, if you're wondering. STAY WITH ME YALL, I NEED YOU.  
> @capconspicious on Twitter! I'm waiting for you <3


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steven assists the Doctor and James accompanies the General.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hHaahahahAAA this was fun, I gotta say. Day 12/25 Days of Stuckmas  
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!!! <3  
> (Kudos, Comments, Love to Badwolf_Lupin for being the sweetest, this one's for you~)

Steven soon learns that there is more to the doctor that meets the eye. Steven admires the steel in the doctor's unassuming step, when he stands at the Class E enclosure entrance and demands to be let in. 

A Class B stands guard, twice as tall as Steven, dwarfing the both of them. "You're not Class C anymore, it's not your business."

"It's your business if anyone in the Class E falls sick, Brandon, so I would suggest you let me pass and do my duty."

The Class B stiffens at the first name, face hardening. "You are not a Class C any longer, you may not address me as such-"

"Sir, then," there is no acquiescence in the doctor's wavery voice, "Let me pass. At least I am willing to spend my time doctoring the women, while others would rather not. Or do you not value those you take to bed?"

The mocking tone throws Steven off- never has he heard any tone of disrespect from the old man's mouth, but he here is, mouth twisted in a condescending smile, no sign of backing down present. 

Steven envies that posture very much.

Finally, the Class B (Brandon) spits on the ground ungraciously, "Agh, there is nothing to value in this lot." But he steps aside for them to enter. 

"It is not wise, but my advice to you, Steven, is never to back down." The doctor is quiet, hand grasping Steven's shoulder in the dimly lit Class E quarters. "We may be Class F, but if we never back down, we will have something they can never begin to grasp."

"Yes, Doctor," utters Steven, voice hushed. He does not quite understand, but doesn't say that. How may they never back down? They are Class F. Their whole lives are about backing down.

In the Class E quarters, illuminated by yellow lights hanging low from heavy fixtures, there are less beds than within the Class F enclosure, more space between them, and, well, there are lights, which is an improvement from what Steven is accustomed to.

Most of the beds are uninhabited; it is later in the day when the sun is starting its descent, though Steven does not exactly have a word for it- He knows many of the women and all the younger girls are in the kitchens, preparing the nighttime meal. Those who are in bed, lay listlessly from what Steven can see; just blankets and some heads of hair. 

Slowly, the doctor makes his way from one figure in bed to another, and Steven trails behind him, carrying a second bag full of materials that clink together when he moves. When he had asked about the bags (never before had Steven known a Class F with so many belongings) the doctor had only winked and said, "The Class Cs still need me yet- they'll let me do my work as long as I don't interfere with theirs."

The first few women that the doctor attends to sit up as he approaches. Some recognize him, call out his name in greeting when he kneels by their beds.

"Not Erskine any longer, Emma," he says to one, "Just Doctor will do. How are you today? Pains? Here, some capsules for the sickness-" Steven is baffled by the massive bodies the women hide under the covers- he is puzzled until the doctor notices his confused glances.

"Children, Steven. They are to have children." Steven is struck with the knowledge, nodding mutely. It had not occurred to him that this was the cause of the women's ailments. Yes, he had known that everyone originated from a man and a woman and yet- his stomach twists at the idea of such suffering, the very sight of skinny limbs and pale faces to contrast with the swollen midsections.

He stays well behind the doctor anyways- hands him the bag and replaces tools and bottles as the man wishes, but does not draw close. Steven does not have the ease with which the doctor speaks to his patients, in fact, he is strangely convinced that he will make things worse if he moves any closer. 

At one corner of the room, an even more puzzling case makes itself known- as the pair draws closer, the sounds become too obvious for Steven to tune out- The cot is quite obviously shaking and the noises- Steven gasps when he realizes, his face aflame and the doctor lets out a humorless chuckle.

"Over there, Steven," he points to the opposite direction, "That's not a sight for you to see." 

Steven retreats gladly, almost tripping over his feet to get away, away from the terrible sounds and the sight of the girl, gasping for breath and anguish all over her pale face, the weight of the man crushing her-

He clings to an empty bed- or he thinks it is an empty bed until the figure shifts, fair hair askew on the mattress. 

"Greetings," says a wisp of a voice.

It is not the first time Steven has seen a woman up close. They are always silent when he passes them, after meals when they retreat to their enclosure again, when he takes bowls of food from them to serve- Steven has seen women up close before. But never has he seen a women as unwell as the one lying here. She looks even more sickly than any of the other women, skinnier, fainter, more sallow, and less substantial than the rest, even through she, too, is obviously expecting a child.

"G-Greetings," stutters Steven, leaning back almost absurdly far, "Um-"

The woman moves like she is attempting to sit up, only serving to alarm Steven further. Limited knowledge or not, he knows that would be a bad idea at her state. 

"Please don't-" Her fingers captivate Steven with how thin and brittle they look, almost disappearing into the sheets.

"Oh, I'm fine," she says breathily, very obviously not fine, "I'm not dead yet-"

"I agree with the boy," the doctor has rushed over by now, "Please, save your strength- there's no need to sit up."

She falls back into the bed, face already covered in a sheen of moisture, "Well, I supposed if you insist, Doctor."

"I do insist," the doctor mutters, though not with any anger, "How have you been? Not any worse, I hope."

"No, not really- you could say I have it easier than the other girls," she waves a spindly hand, "Not a bit of sickness in the mornings-"

"That's because you barely eat," he says drily, "These capsules should help with the light-headedness, I think." He hands her a small envelope with the pills inside. "You must swallow them only after you've eaten food- no buts." Firmly, he pushes the envelop into her hand, "For the child."

The doctor's voice is weighted now, not a threat but more a solemn reminder. In response, the sickly woman's face falls and she takes the capsules without a word.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, I understand," she rasps a bit, "I do have a bit of a history. Thank you, Doctor." There's an uncomfortable silence, until Steven shifts his leg too loudly and crunches some gravel under his foot. To his dismay, the woman turns her attention to him.

"Well, what is you name?" she asks, in a kind manner, Steven supposes. 

"Steven," he answers while avoiding her eyes, but she doesn't answer, so he nervously turns his eyes back. She's smiling the slightest.

"Steven. What a nice name," she muses. "My name is Sarah. It's nice to meet you." 

"Um. Sarah is a nice name too," Steven mumbles awkwardly, unsure what else to say and suddenly aware of how Sarah's eyes are blue in the light of the low hanging bulbs. 

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Steven." Sarah smiles that smile again, and Steve realizes that he's never really seen one of the Class E truly smile. Not like this. 

The Doctor finishes his round with Steven tagging along with no further incident, and they emerge into the darker night just in time for dinner. Or what's left of it anyways- Class F is only ever fed scraps. 

It is easy not to Care, but Steve can't help remembering a tired, sickly woman named Sarah and her small, blue-eyed smile. It was a sad smile, he thinks. 

\---

The very night that James becomes General Pierce's new Private, he switches bunks to the General's private living quarters, a substantial time in a motorportation vehicle away from the general Class B quarters. 

It comes as a surprise to James that those of Class B with higher rankings reside in nearly the same quarters as Class As. It soon becomes very apparent just how important James' decision is. He is a Private. To General Pierce.

The decision feels as important as the insurmountable building before James. Never has he seen the immaculate walls this close, or looked up to it's shining windows with such clarity- naturally, the top floors are for Class A and the bottom few are for the elite Class B.

James realizes that he has now become part of the latter. 

There are some Class Fs to take James' small pack of belongings when they arrive at the living quarters and James almost clings onto his pack out of mere habit- he's never been waited on outside of the mess hall and it doesn't feel right.

But the small man with the crooked back yanks James' pack from his hands and scurries off with it.

"You'll find your belongings in your room," the general explains calmly, "We'll have adjoined rooms, of course. You will no longer share all your classes with the other boys, however. Strategy and Control classes will be attended with the other Privates, as well as Combat lessons." They enter through sliding glass doors that open as they approach- James shuts down the way his eyes begin to widen. "Training sessions will continue with the rest of Class B, as usual. How does that sound?" He looks down at James expectantly.

"Sounds precise, sir," James nods. He hadn't known that becoming a Private would also result in his removal from his usual activities, but he doesn't exactly Care. This is a good opportunity.

"Come along then, James, I'll introduce you to the Privates. You will be spending a considerable amount of time with them from this point forward." The doors had opened to an atrium of sorts, stainless and sterilized and bright. James does not blink or squint in the light, only follows silently alongside his new mentor to the center of the hall, where there is a gathering of similarly tall Class B men and gangly Class B boys. 

"General Stane," General Pierce greets the other man cordially, almost gladly, with a hearty handshake. 

General Stane, bulkier than Pierce, responds likewise. "This your Private then?" His eyes pass over James easily, "Well, looks promising! But can't say he'll best Justin, can I?"

"Well, we'll see about that," Pierce laughs and pats James forward. "James, this is General Obadiah Stane and his Private, one Justin Hammer." At the last name, James takes a closer look at the other boy- he is significantly older than James, at the very least Fourteen to have chosen a surname. 

One day, James will choose one as well. 

"Greetings, sir," James executes his practiced bend at the waist, "It is a pleasure."

The large man and his Private mirror James. "A pleasure it is," Stane is quite obviously more of a talker than Pierce, and louder and- more. Justin, for his part, stays silent with just the barest of polite smiles at James. James knows that he is only a child to the other Private. 

"General Pierce-" It's another General now, and James knows who it is; General Ross, a legend among the Class Bs. A record of victories under his name, colonies defeated and rebellions vanquished. With silvery hair and firm features, he grasps Pierce into handshake as well, as equals do. "-Glad to have you rejoin us."

"As am I," Pierce nods. "I anticipate great things with a Private by my side. James, General Ross and Private Brock."

"You anticipate rightfully so," Ross is slim up close but there is no mistaking the resilient strength he bears in his bones. James reigns in his amazement. "Well, James, we are glad to welcome you."

General Ross, welcoming him, James. All the Control classes in the world couldn't keep the slight rush of pink from touching James' cheeks. 

Their conversation moves elsewhere while James and Brock bow politely at each other. Of the other Privates that James has seen, Brock is the closest to his young age, with dark hair and steady eyes. James vaguely recalls Brock's presence with the other Class Bs prior to this, before he had virtually disappeared, but it makes sense that he would be chosen. Brock would make a formidable ally. 

The rest of the introductions seem like a blur, really, a rush of handshakes and James bending at the waist till he swears he can hear it creaking. 

Lieutenant Rhodey comes forth with his Private, Sam, Colonel Jones with Private Private Jim, General Phillips and Private Jack, General Schmidt and Private Montgomery- the list extends further, not by much, but it's all unclear anyhow.

Finally, General Pierce guides him away, with an ample amount of farewells. They take an el-lift, the first time James has ever been in one, to the quarters at the level above. It is quiet in the small compartment, with only the slight whoosh of ventilated air and a faint swooping sensation low in James' gut. 

"What do you think, James?"

It feels like a test- James does not answer immediately. It is not often that one is asked what they think. Even as a Class B, or especially as a Class B; they were made for orders and duty and honor. The Class As do the thinking. But James knows what he thinks. 

He wets his lips, and answers truthfully. "This is promising, sir."

Pierce actually sounds delighted. "That it is, Private James. That it is."

The General's quarters are spacious, nothing like the small rooms with multiple bunk beds that James is accustomed to. There are several chambers that belong to Pierce alone, a study, a bedroom, a lavatory, a sitting room. 

The room adjoined to James' is General Pierce's bedroom, neat and sparse of belongings. 

"Here you are, James," the General opens the heavy door for him, "Your room."

"Thank you, General Pierce," James makes sure to bow before entering the doorway. 

"You are welcome, of course. Get rested," Pierce smiles, "We'll get started on your new curriculum early tomorrow."

The door closes solidly, leaving James in solitude at least. The room is spacious for just one person, with a bed and a large desk at one corner, an empty shelf at another.

James finds himself pleased with the space, another aspect that is promising. But being pleased is not the same thing as Caring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Steve's part made you feel sick, good- it was supposed to. I got queasy writing it.   
> @capconspicious on Twitter! I keep saying it but no one cares LMAO it's ok, Twitter is dangerous so you should stay away.

**Author's Note:**

> First- this is a rough fic- very unpolished. Ngl. It will be editted, probably. I would very much appreciate if you stick it out with me to the end of the line, so to speak.  
> Second: MY. TWITTER. YALL GOTTA HIT ME UP OK, I NEED MORE STUCKY FRIENDS, I'LL NEVER GET ENOUGH!! @capconspicious (literally one person that I know of has done this, kudos to you Connor Macmanus, also Beth Carlington is very sweet)  
> Finally: the WHOLE Christmas collection is good and has variety, I promise, fluff, angst, big Steve, small Steve, smooth Bucky, not-so-smooth Bucky, pre-war, war-era, modern AU, fake-relationship AU, YOU NAME IT.  
> HERE:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/collections/stuckmas  
> 


End file.
